Only an Accident
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Entry for NFA challenge about Tim's missing day when he crashed his Camaro. Lengthy oneshot. This is the first appearance of my OCs Sam and Naomi McGee.


**A/N:** As those who read my stories will be aware, I have created my own backstory of Tim's family. It stemmed from this story I wrote for an NFA challenge in which we were supposed to explain what happened in Tim's accident when he crashed the Camaro his parents bought him on his 16th birthday. I liked the characters of Sam and Naomi McGee so much that I've reused them many times. Here is their first appearance. This is an extremely lengthy oneshot.

**Disclaimer:** I claim no character in this story except for Sam and Naomi. NCIS belongs to DPB. Not me.

* * *

**Only an Accident**  
by Enthusiastic Fish

"So, McGee, your parents are coming, huh?"

"Yes, Tony."

"Wanted to see what their little boy does with his time?" Tony teased.

"More or less," Tim said, shortly, trying not to show the mild anxiety he was feeling.

"Why don't you just show them your typewriter?"

"Ha ha," Tim said. Then, he thought of something. "Tony. While my parents are here, please do something for me."

"What? Act like you're the leader of the team? Pretend that I don't bug you?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "No. They know I'm not the leader of the team and they know _all_ about you."

"What have you been telling them, McGeek?"

Tim widened his eyes. "The truth, Tony. They are my parents after all."

"Boy scout," Tony muttered.

"WEBLOS," Tim corrected and then sobered. "Just don't stare and don't ask, okay?"

"What?"

The elevator doors opened at that moment and Tim's father came into the bullpen.

"Tim!"

"Hey, Dad!" Tim said, feeling only a shadow of the guilt he always had when he first saw his father. "Where's Mom?"

"Parking the car. Days like this, even the handicapped spaces aren't close enough to the building for me," he said, grinning.

Tim bent down and hugged him quickly, accidentally knocking his foot against the front wheel. "Sorry."

"No worries. Didn't you notice? This is the new model!" He spun it around in a quick circle, balancing only on his rear wheels. "Top of the line. State of the art. I could climb a mountain in this thing."

Tim looked over at Tony and saw that he was staring. He sent him a pleading look over his dad's head and Tony finally noticed it...and _was_ noticed by Tim's dad.

"Hey, you must be Tony! I'm Sam, Tim's dad, although I'm sure you caught that." He rolled over and held out his hand.

Tony pulled himself together and shook the proffered hand. It wasn't as though he had never seen a person in a wheelchair before. _But McGee never mentioned it, not once..._

"Nice to meet you," Tony said. "What brings you to DC?"

"Oh, this and that. Since both of our children have decided to live in the mess of cities on the Eastern seaboard, we decided to make a trip of it and visit them at the same time." He got a mischievous look on his face and said, "I'm also hoping that I can force Tim to take me around in his Porsche. We certainly never had one of _those_ growing up, although the Camaro was pretty close... may it rest in peace." He bounced on the chair a little bit. "Still, this chair is the Porsche of wheelchairs, that's for sure."

Tony laughed and looked at Tim again...and was surprised to see a look that was anything but amused. It was the look of someone _trying_ to be amused and failing. He looked unaccountably relieved when his phone rang.

"Sorry, Dad, I'll just be a minute," Tim said as he hurried over to his desk.

"No problem." He turned back to Tony. "So, Tim tells me you're a car guy. You heard about the Camaro, I hope?"

"He mentioned it, yeah."

"I'm sure that's all he did. He still doesn't like talking about it much," Sam said and sighed a little, for the first time looking older than he probably was. "His first and last car...for nearly ten years."

"Is that how...?" Tony began and then stopped.

"How I got my special set of wheels?"

"Tony!" Tim yelled from his desk.

Tony looked over at Tim and saw that he looked, not annoyed, but nearly _betrayed_ by Tony's innocent question.

"It's okay, Tim. It's been more than a decade. I'm not going to fall apart," Sam chided. He looked back at Tony. "Yeah, it was. Not a good day for any of us really..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_13 years ago..._

Tim opened his eyes and rolled over in bed. It wasn't nearly as bright out as he had expected, considering he'd been allowed to sleep in on his birthday.

"Sixteen years old. Somehow, I thought I'd _feel_ older," he said to himself.

"Timothy, are you awake?" Naomi yelled from downstairs.

"Yes, Mom!"

"Good. Breakfast is almost ready. Get a move on!"

Tim grinned to himself and gave a fake whine, "Come on, Mom! It's my birthday!"

"Happy birthday! Get up!"

Tim sat up and looked out the window. There were some dark clouds on the horizon. It would probably rain today.

The door to his bedroom burst open and his annoying younger sister launched herself onto his bed.

"Wake up! Wake up! Mom said we can't eat until you're downstairs! I'm starving!" Sarah shouted.

"Get out of here!" he said.

"Hurry up! Hurry up!" she shouted, unintimidated by his implied threat. She began to jump on the bed.

Tim saw that he would have to resort to logic. "Sarah, I still have to get dressed. I can't get dressed if you're in the room. So..." he pointed to the door.

"You'd better be fast!" she said as she got down.

"Shut the door behind you!"

She stuck her tongue out at him and then slammed the door as she left.

Tim grinned to himself and began to get dressed.

+-+-+

"Dad, don't you think I'm a little old to be blindfolded?"

"You're never too old. After all, as Charles Dickens said, 'Father Time is not always a hard parent, and, though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirits young and in full vigor. With such people...'"

"Okay, okay! Stop!" Tim said, trying to forestall another lecture.

Sam continued unabated, although he was grinning all the while, "'...the gray head is but the impression of the old fellow's hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life.'"

"Right, got it. What am I getting?"

"Oh, such youthful greed."

"Not another quotation, Dad, please," Tim begged.

"Are you willing to forfeit a birthday gift just to avoid hearing some of the classics?"

Tim hesitated...

Sam laughed. "Okay, follow me." He grabbed Tim's hand and took him out the front door. The dark clouds were moving in and a storm looked to be on the way.

"We there yet?"

"An appropriate question, all things considered. Naomi, you getting this?"

"No. Mom, you're not filming are you?"

"Of course I am. You're only sixteen once!"

Tim tried to be annoyed, but he really couldn't...particularly not when his dad finally removed the blindfold.

Tim was speechless; his mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

Finally, he whispered, "No. No way."

"Are you saying you don't want it, Tim?"

Tim's mouth stretched into a wide grin. He looked at his dad in absolute shock. "You...I...wow."

Sam turned toward Naomi and said to the camera, "Yes, this is our genius son speaking. Note the fluent use of the English language."

Tim couldn't tear his eyes off the driveway. A car...a _Camaro_ was sitting there with a huge, ridiculous bow on it. He would be the first to admit that he wasn't really cool, but this was definitely a _cool_ car. Very cool.

"Speak Timothy. You're going to leave the impression on your posterity that you are ignorant."

"Dad...this...this is a _car_."

"Yes, very good, my son. Do you have any idea what to do with such a gift?" Sam asked, completely hamming it up for the camera.

Tim finally looked away from the car and at his mother. He smiled and said, "As Logan Pearsall Smith explained, 'There are two things to aim at in life: first, to get what you want; and after that, to enjoy it. Only the wisest of mankind achieve the second.' So, I'm going to be wise and enjoy it."

"Thank you for not making me regret my choice of gift, Tim." He held out the keys. "Want to take a test drive?"

"Wow, do I ever." Tim grabbed the keys and ran to the car. "I'll be right back!" he shouted gleefully over his shoulder as he ripped off the bow and then jumped into the car. He smiled maliciously as he gunned the engine.

"None of that, Tim!" Naomi said from her position on the porch. "I don't want a teenage rebel on my hands."

"You sure, Mom?"

"Positive!"

"Okay." Tim put the car in gear and pulled carefully out of the driveway. He drove off down the road...very carefully.

"I want a ride!" Sarah demanded petulantly.

"You'll have to ask Tim. I'm sure he will...eventually," Naomi said and then swung the camera down onto Sarah. "It's your brother's birthday today. Do you have anything you want to say? Remember we'll get to see this for years."

Sarah thought for a minute. "Did you know that Tim still grinds his teeth when he sleeps? It's like listening to a chainsaw."

Naomi almost dropped the camera as she started laughing. "Well, that's unique. I was hoping for something a little more...full of sibling love."

"I don't love Tim, Mom. He's my _brother_."

Naomi turned off the camera. "Okay, that's obviously it for the filming. How long do you think he'll be gone?"

"Long enough to feel cool," Sam said.

"That'll take ages," Sarah said.

"Sarah, that's not very nice."

"Hey, _Tim_ says that he's not cool."

"Sarah..."

"All right. Fine."

A few minutes later, Tim came driving up the road...still not especially quickly.

"You know, I think we trained him too well," Sam said. "He's way too careful."

"Shush. I'd much rather have him be careful than end up splattered on the roadway somewhere," Naomi retorted.

"Do I have to stand out here?" Sarah asked.

"Yes."

As Tim pulled into the driveway, he was grinning from ear to ear. He yelled, "Hey, Dad! Want a ride?"

"I do!" Sarah protested.

"You can be next, Sarah!" Tim called, forgetting to be annoyed at her. "Well, Dad?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Sam answered and ran over. "We can drag Main!"

"Sam..." Naomi warned.

"Just kidding. I do want to get a feel for her though. Let's go." He jumped in the passenger side and made a peace symbol out the window as they drove down the street.

"Do we have to stand out here, still, Mom?" Sarah whined.

"No, Sarah," Naomi said. "I'll bet the boys will be gone for awhile. Let's go eat some more of Tim's cake."

"All right!" Sarah shot past her mother into the house.

"I said _some_, not _all_, young lady!" Naomi called after her.

+-+-+

"Dad, this is really amazing. I mean, really," Tim said.

"You have no idea how much fun I had picking it out."

Tim grinned. "More fun than English lit?"

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

They drove around for about ten minutes, just talking about the car, its various features and proper maintenance. Tim stopped at one of the main intersections and pulled carefully onto the main highway.

"I'm glad you're a careful driver, Tim, but you _can_ enjoy the ride."

"I _am_!" Tim protested.

Sam pointed to the white-knuckle grip Tim had at the official ten-and-two position on the steering wheel. "Really?"

"It's just...I've never had a passenger. I don't want to get in an accident."

"You'll be fine. Relax."

Tim smiled as Sam reached over gently jiggled his arm to force some of the tension out of it. As Tim continued to drive, the heavens suddenly opened and down came the rain that had been threatening all day.

"Uh-oh. Where are the wipers?" Tim looked down and saw the appropriate knob.

"Tim!"

Tim looked up at his dad's voice and saw it...looming in front of him like his worst nightmare. A city bus, just pulling into the intersection. The driver had underestimated Tim's speed and overestimated the distance. He was too close. Tim could tell, his mind calculating his speed and stopping distance almost instantly. _And the kids in physics said we didn't need to know how to do that_, he thought incongruously. Even though he knew there was no chance, he slammed on the brakes, forgetting that they'd lock. The car began to skid and his last view was the front of the car crumpling in slow motion and spinning out of control. Then, the impact hit him, throwing him forward against the steering wheel, and he blacked out.

+-+-+

"Tim! Tim! Are you okay?" Sam yelled through the smoke. The car had somehow ended up in a tortured heap on its side. Sam was pinned between his seat and the destroyed dashboard. He was surprised that he wasn't in more pain, but he didn't spend time worrying about that. All he was worried about now was his son. He squinted through the smoke and saw Tim, hanging from his seatbelt, blood dripping from a large gash on his head...unconscious.

"Tim! Wake up!" Sam reached out his arm, ignoring the pain that caused and shook Tim. "Come on, Timothy. You need to wake up!" He wondered why no one was there to help. Surely there was someone who could _do_ something. Finally, to his relief, Tim moaned and opened his eyes.

"Dad?" he said vaguely. "Dad? What happened?"

"We had an accident, Tim. You need to get out of the car. Okay?"

Tim didn't seem to really understand him. His expression was one of complete confusion. "Dad?" He looked down at his father, showing little comprehension of what was going on. "Where are we?"

"In your car. We just had an accident, Tim. You need to get out."

It seemed to take forever for Tim to make any sign that he had understood his father's words. He finally moved his arms, wincing as he did so. He tried to move the steering wheel which had trapped his left leg. He cried out in pain.

"I can't move it, Dad. It hurts," he whimpered. "I'm stuck."

Sam took a deep breath and then struggled to remain conscious as a black curtain briefly fell across his vision. He had a terrible feeling that he knew why he felt so little pain from being pinned.

"I can't help you get out, Tim. You're going to have to do it yourself."

"I can't!"

"Timothy McGee, you will never be able to do _anything_ if you don't think you can! What did Winston Churchill say?"

Tim's face was a mask of pain; he didn't answer, but he was still awake.

Sam continued, "He said that the 'pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity'."

"Dad...what kind of...opportunity is this?"

"Everything is an opportunity. What did he say about the optimist?"

"I don't remember..." Tim said and began to fade away again.

"Think, Timothy!" he said in his sternest voice.

"...uh...something about seeing...the opportunity in...every difficulty..."

"Exactly. This is hard. I know. I know it hurts, but Tim, you _have_ to get out. So, move that steering wheel off your leg and get out of the car."

Tim looked at Sam with tears in his eyes. "But...Dad..."

"No buts, Timothy. Do it. Now!"

Tim turned his head back to the steering wheel. "How?"

"Lift."

Tim pushed weakly on the steering wheel and tried to move his leg again. He cried out once more and the tears poured down his cheeks.

"I _can't_!"

"Yes, you can. _Lift_!"

Tim pushed up on the wheel again and screamed as he slowly freed his leg.

"Good, good job, Tim. Now, take off your seatbelt and get out of the car."

Tim began to follow Sam's instructions, but then, he paused and looked down at his father and the very thing Sam had hoped he wouldn't realize suddenly became clear. "What about you?"

"You can get out and get help for me."

"No, Dad. I won't leave you in here."

"Yes, Tim. You have to. You have to get out and get help."

"No!" Tim shouted, wiping blood and tears from his face with his sleeve. "I won't!"

"Timothy, you won't be able to get me out yourself."

"Why not? I just moved the steering wheel," he said, still crying.

Sam smiled. "I know and I'm glad, but I won't be able to help you move me and you can't do it yourself. You need to go and get help."

Sam thought for a brief shining moment that Tim was going to listen to him, but then, he got a strange look on his face. It was a look of determination beyond anything he'd shown up to this point. It was a lot like Naomi got when she _knew_ she was right and was going to succeed no matter what anyone else said. _What a time to start acting like his mother_, Sam thought.

"No, Dad. I won't. I won't get out of the car unless you can come with me," Tim said, even as his face grew pale from the pain and, possibly, the blood loss. "Is your seatbelt still on?"

"No," Sam said quietly.

Tim sniffed and nodded, his eyes drooping for a moment, but then flying open again. "Okay. Where are you pinned?"

"Just above my waist."

Sam saw the comprehension dawn. Tim was too smart for his own good sometimes. He was surprised when Tim said nothing about it. Instead, his eyes roved over Sam's location and he seemed to be formulating plans in his head and then discarding them.

"Do you know where the seat...tilt...handle...thing is?"

"I think it's by the door. I can't get to it."

"Maybe I can," Tim whispered. "If we tilt the seat...uh, then...uh, maybe we can slide you out and then..."

"And then?" Sam asked. He could see that Tim was fading quickly, even though he was trying desperately to do it all.

"Then...if I can't move you myself..." Tim's face started to crumple as he tried to hold back his tears. "...if I can't...then, I'll go and get help."

"Okay, Tim. That sounds like a reasonable plan."

Tim gritted his teeth in anticipation of moving his injured leg, seemingly determined not to make any more noise. He mostly succeeded although Sam could hear him gasping as he moved himself under Sam's legs so that he could reach the seat adjustment handle. Sam knew the instant he succeeded because the seat suddenly moved backwards, leaving Sam to follow its backward motion.

Then, there were faint cries from outside the car.

"Hello, down there! Can you hear me?"

Sam drew in a breath. "Yes! Help!"

"We're coming down!"

_Down?_ Sam thought and then remembered that there was a small ravine on one side of the highway. He usually barely noticed it. That must be why no one had come before now. They hadn't seen the car and the bus surely drew a lot of attention.

"Hang on!"

"Tim? Tim!"

"Dad...I'm feeling...dizzy."

"Okay, just get up and climb out, all right? There are people coming down to help."

Tim slowly emerged from the space under the dashboard, white as a sheet and he couldn't suppress a moan as he moved his leg.

"You did very well, Tim. Remember that."

As Tim began to ease himself out of the car, their rescuers descended. Tim was pulled out quickly and Sam soon followed, although they put a neck brace on first.

One of the paramedics had a sense of humor and asked, "How are you feeling today, sir?"

Sam smiled briefly but couldn't help letting his worry come out now that Tim was safe. "I can't feel my legs."

"No sensation at all?"

"No. Nothing. They may as well be gone for all I can feel of them."

"I understand, sir. We're going to get you out now and we'll see what there is to see."

Sam was out in seconds and he saw Tim, passed out on a gurney, being loaded into an ambulance.

"Is my son all right?"

"Too soon to tell. He's lost a lot of blood and that's a hard knock he took. Let's just worry about you for now. Okay?"

But Sam, now that he had seen his son safely away, couldn't keep himself awake any longer and he was gone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Of course, Tim didn't remember any of it. He barely remembered that he'd had his birthday," Naomi said. She had joined the conversation a few minutes before. "We had to show him the video just to convince him that he had indeed been the owner of a Camaro...for under an hour." She smiled over to where Tim had hidden himself behind his computer monitor. "Well, I think we've embarrassed him enough. Tim, you can stop hiding now."

Tim stood up and approached his family. When Tony met his eyes, he saw no emotion. Tim had managed to control his expression and showed nothing of what he might be feeling.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, with a trace of sarcasm.

"So, can you show us the lab? ...and Abby?"

Tim flushed. "Mom, Abby's just a friend."

"For now..." Naomi said with a smile.

"Please, Mom, don't make any hints."

Sam came to the rescue. "Actually, we've been in the car for hours. Your mom's a taskmaster when it comes to taking breaks. Is there a bathroom around here somewhere?"

"Yeah, that way." Tim pointed down the hall.

"Thanks. We'll be right back."

They left and Tim stood uncomfortably, not looking at Tony.

"You never said anything about that before, McGee," Tony said.

"It was none of your business," Tim answered, but without any malice.

"Sounds to me like you were a hero."

"Not really. My dad's the hero." Tim smiled, although he still wouldn't meet Tony's gaze. "From what _he_ says."

"You really don't remember?"

"No. I remember the car now. I remember the bus. Everything after that...for a long time after, my memory went from waking up in my bed to waking up in the hospital. I just don't remember."

"Sorry, I asked."

"It's okay. I'm still too sensitive about it. You can see that my dad isn't anymore. He makes jokes...all the time. He's been the eternal optimist, probably more for my sake than anything else. I just..." Tim shrugged. "...every time I see him, I remember taking my eyes off the road and then looking up and seeing that bus. I was the one driving, but my dad's the one who got paralyzed." Tim stared steadfastly down the hall. "We could have sued the city, you know. The bus driver admitted that he was in too much of a hurry and misjudged my approach...but...I can't help thinking that I could have stopped in time if I hadn't been looking down."

Tony couldn't think of anything to say. He hadn't expected to be on the receiving end of such a confidence when he had started teasing Tim about his parents. Gibbs came in behind Tim as he continued speaking but didn't interrupt and Tim didn't see him.

"My dad and I started physical therapy on the same day. The difference is that I got to walk again and he never did. He ended up with all sorts of digestive problems and then there were all the extra expenses from making the house wheelchair accessible, plus all of Dad's time in rehab. Then, we got sued by a couple of the passengers on the bus. It amounted to nothing, but the cost of a lawyer was not cheap. All that from one second..."

"And you couldn't drive?" Tony asked.

"No. I _refused_ to drive. I kept my license, even renewed it, but I refused to drive."

Tony opened his mouth to say..._something_ but stopped when Tim's parents returned. Tim, for his part, covered up his moment of guilt and smiled.

"Okay, you two ready for the grand tour?"

"Lead on!" Sam said.

"Did you know about that, Boss?" Tony asked after they left.

"Nope." Gibbs didn't elaborate, but Tony could see that he had something in his mind about it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What are you doing up here, Mr. McGee?" Gibbs asked about an hour later when he returned to the bullpen.

Sam looked up, startled, from his perusal of Tim's desk. "Oh, hello. Tim's doing the Autopsy tour. I've never been a big fan of seeing dead bodies. I told them that I'd meet them all up here." He rolled over to Gibbs' desk and stuck out his hand. "You must be Agent Gibbs. Tim's told us so much about you all."

"Jethro," Gibbs said, shaking his hand.

"Sam," Sam replied, smiling. "While you're here, I want thank you for giving my son a chance."

"I don't give chances, Sam. He earned his position here."

"I don't doubt it, but there are very few times that I've seen Tim want something as much as he wanted to work here...with you. He's changed so much since he finished FLETC, and all for the better as far as I can see. He would have been easy to pass over when he was at Norfolk. I know...because he was...often."

"I consider myself lucky to have him, Sam."

"So do I," Sam said. "He never told any of you about me, did he."

Gibbs smiled and Sam nodded knowingly.

"I keep hoping that one of these days he'll realize that I don't blame him, that I never did. It would probably help if he could just remember how great he was while we were trapped in that car, but he only has my word for it. The funny thing is that he was never afraid of _riding_ in a car, just driving."

"He still feels guilty, you know."

"I know. I see it in his eyes...every time he comes home, every time we meet. He's pretty good at covering it, but it's still there. I just don't understand it, I guess."

"Were you ever in the military, Sam?"

Sam smiled and laughed. "No. Never. I have the greatest respect for those who do serve, but I was never one of them. Oh, I signed up and registered as I should...and if I had been called up, I would have served, but no, I am not a military man, just a professor. Does the military have any way of getting rid of needless guilt, Jethro?"

"Not really...but survivor's guilt is very common during wartime."

"How do they address it?"

"It depends. Some never get over it."

Tim got off the elevator as they were talking. They didn't notice him, and when he heard the conversation, he hung back, uncertain of whether or not to interrupt.

"That's too bad. At first, I could tell myself that it was only a matter of time, but that time has stretched a bit longer than I thought. I don't think I've seen him unabashedly happy since that day."

He rolled forward closer to Gibbs' desk and said, "I've been in a wheelchair for thirteen years, Jethro. I've accepted that I'll never walk again, and I've found ways of compensating and even enjoying what I have. I'm as healthy as anyone in my position can reasonably expect. If I could I would want to walk again. I'm not going to pretend that I think my life is _better_ because of my handicap." He sighed and looked earnestly at Gibbs. "...but I would give up even the freedom I have now if I could just get my son to look at me without guilt in his eyes."

Before Gibbs could answer, Tim cleared his throat. "Dad?" His throat was annoyingly tight. He cleared his throat again.

"Yes, Tim? All done with the cadavers?" Sam could tell that Tim had heard him, but he didn't acknowledge it.

Tim smiled. "Yeah. Mom loved it."

"She would. So what now?"

"Mom wants to get a tour of campus before this evening. She said that we'll meet for dinner after I'm done here."

"She off to get the car?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You'll be finished when?"

"Around seven."

"See you then...at the hotel?"

"Right."

Sam began to wheel himself to the elevator. He stopped as he neared Tim and grabbed his arm. "I meant that, Tim," he whispered.

"I'll...see you at seven, Dad."

Sam nodded and got on the elevator.

"How long will that last, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim jumped and turned around. "What?"

"How long will that last?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know."

"You said before that it was only a second that you looked away."

Tim didn't bother to ask how he knew that. Gibbs always seemed to know.

"Why are you letting one second define your entire relationship with your father?"

Tim felt a lump rise in his throat. "I never...It's not that it really..._defines_ it."

"Really? I've watched you. It does, McGee. I can see it in your eyes...and so can he."

Tim surreptitiously brushed a tear away before it could reveal his feelings...not that it mattered. Gibbs could see how he felt.

"It was only one second, Boss, but look at how far it's reached and how far it _will_ reach."

"McGee, it reaches this far because _you're_ the one it's still affecting."

"Me? I didn't have any lasting effects. Just a few scars. My dad's the one who is still affected."

"Not really, McGee. He's as able with that wheelchair as most people are on two legs." Gibbs stared at Tim in silence for a few seconds, until Tim became discomfited by the scrutiny. "In reality, McGee, you're the one who's crippled."

Tim opened his mouth to protest and no words came out. Gibbs walked by Tim toward the elevator. He paused and squeezed Tim's shoulder and then went on, leaving Tim standing alone in the bullpen. Tim knew his dad didn't blame him. He'd always known that, from the first day Sam had been allowed to visit him. With Tim in traction and Sam paralyzed, visiting had been a trick.

"_It wasn't your fault, Tim," Sam said firmly._

"_That bus...I only looked down...just for a second, Dad. It seemed to appear out of nowhere!"_

"_It's not your fault. The bus driver admitted that he shouldn't have gone."_

"_They said that you're never going to walk again. Is that true?"_

"_Yes, Tim. It's true. I'm paralyzed and barring an act of God, I'm going to be in a wheelchair."_

_Tim started crying. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm so so sorry."_

_Sam couldn't hug his son because they were both on gurneys. He settled for grabbing Tim's hand and squeezing it tightly. "You have nothing to apologize for. It was an accident, plain and simple."_

Tim knew it was an accident...in his head. Logically, he knew that it had been the incredible bad luck of the storm, the bus, the wipers all conspiring, coming together at that one moment. ...but it didn't matter because at the end of the day, he was left with the fact that his moment of inattention had resulted in his father's paralysis. He shook his head and looked at his watch. Then, he realized that he still had a lot of work to do before he left for the day and headed back to his desk. Working was easier than thinking about it anyway.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

At the end of dinner that night, Sarah was talking animatedly about one of her English classes. Tim tried to pay attention, but his mind kept wandering.

"So, I had this huge fight with my prof. She's trying to give me a C on my paper...just because she doesn't like the topic, which she approved at the beginning of the semester! I told her that I was appealing the grade and she told me to go ahead, that she wouldn't change it unless she was forced to."

"Good for you, Sarah," Naomi said. She had noticed the tension between Sam and Tim, but as they were both trying to pretend it wasn't there, she was as well. "What's your next step?"

"Well, I got another one of my English profs to read it and critique it. He said he'd talk to the dean. I'd ask you, Dad, but I think they'd call it conflict of interest."

"More than likely, although I wouldn't mind looking it over."

"So..." Sarah hesitated, knowing that this was dangerous territory, but also knowing _why_ her parents had made the trek to see them out here. "...How did everything...go?" Predictably, Tim winced, but he covered it quickly, as he always did.

Sam also saw the wince. "As well as can be expected. I just have to be more careful about watching for the pressure sores...and anything else on my legs that shouldn't be there. They said it wasn't too serious at this point. I just need to be more vigilant."

"So...no more of those...thromboses?" Sarah asked.

"Not that they can see. They're a little worried by how many I've had lately, but they're not recommending anything different at this point." Sam looked at Tim. "So, when are you going to take me for a ride?"

Tim actually blanched, but his voice was completely calm and reasonable. "I can't tonight, Dad. I have to get to work early tomorrow. When are you leaving?"

"In the morning sometime. We're not in a rush since I got work off for the week," Sam said, but his eyes were sad.

"Okay. I'll be sure to talk to you before you go." He looked at his watch. "I really should be going now, actually. Do you want some help with the check?"

"No, that's all right, Tim," Naomi said, a knowing look on her face. "We've got it."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay. Talk to you later." Tim stood up with unnecessary haste and left the restaurant. Once he got outside into the cold night air, he stopped and took a long breath. _How could I have just walked out on them like that?_ And yet, he knew he wouldn't go back in. He also didn't want to go home. He stood, undecided, on the sidewalk for a minute or two.

"Tim?"

"Hey, Dad."

"You wondering where you parked your car?"

"No."

"Tim..."

"I really need to go, Dad," Tim said, cutting him off. His eyes were begging Sam not to say anything.

"I know you still feel responsible, Tim. I don't know what I can say to stop that, but avoiding me and avoiding the topic isn't going to help."

"I...I just have to go."

"I know, and I know _why_ you do. I just wish I could help you understand that you really _don't_ need to leave."

Tim smiled sadly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Dad."

Sam sighed and let him go. "Okay, Tim."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked into the parking lot and got into his car. He sat for a few seconds and looked back at his father, sitting in his wheelchair by the curb. He shook his head and started the car. When he arrived at NCIS, he was almost surprised. He hadn't really thought about returning, but it was as good a destination as any. He parked his car and walked into the building, waving to the night shift as he headed to his desk. He sat down and rested his chin on his hand, absently tapping out random searches on his computer. It wasn't as though he didn't love his dad. That was the problem. He loved him so much that it killed him to see the evidence of his mistake...and to see it over and over, remembering afresh each time, that moment of inattention. Sometimes, he wished that he could really remember what had happened. It couldn't be any worse than the sparse memories he'd been able to dredge up from the depths of the hole in his mind. Instead, he had the crash, seeing that bus and then feeling himself being thrown into the steering wheel...then, nothing.

"McGee, what are you doing here still?" Gibbs asked as he came down to the bullpen.

Tim sat up in surprise. "Boss! I...it's not still. It's again."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I know why I'm here. I had a meeting. Why are _you_ here...again?"

"Just thinking."

"And you can't think anywhere else?"

"No, that's not it." Tim looked around the bullpen. "I like it here."

"Why aren't you still with your family?"

Tim shrugged and leaned on his hand again. He expected Gibbs would just leave and he could carry on with his own worries. When a shadow fell over his desk, he looked up and saw Gibbs staring at him. He didn't speak; he just stared.

"Boss?" Tim asked.

Gibbs stared at him for a little longer and then asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"N-Not really."

Gibbs walked back to his desk, set down his coat and then rolled his own chair over to Tim's desk. "Why don't you try it?"

Tim sat up again. "There's really nothing to say. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I do, Boss. I do and I don't know how to stop. Every time they come for a visit or I go home, I tell myself that I don't need to feel guilty...but I still do. It comes on so quickly that I don't know how to stop it."

"Have you ever tried _talking_ about it?"

"Of course."

"In depth? Or like this?"

"Like this, I guess."

"McGee, you admit that you know it wasn't your fault. Have you ever thought that your dad might feel guilty?"

"What?"

"He knows _you_ still feel guilty about being the driver. Have you ever thought that just maybe he feels guilty for putting you in that situation? After all, he did give you the car. If he hadn't, you wouldn't have been in an accident at all. Or, what if someone else had ridden with you? Would that have put you in the same place at the same time?"

"But that's ridiculous."

"Of course it is. Guilt rarely makes sense. Maybe you're both punishing yourselves for the same incident...without cause."

"Dad wouldn't do that. He's too smart to..."

"You're not a complete dunce yourself, McGee, and yet, look what you're doing. How would you describe the relationship you have with your dad right now?"

Tim grimaced. "Varying levels of strain."

"Is that what you want?"

Tim looked down at his hands. "No," he said softly. "Dad was nearly my best friend before the accident. Even when I had different interests, he was always my biggest cheerleader."

"Why don't you just try risking a little of that guilt you're carrying and get a little of that back."

"I don't think I can."

"You could try it...and try for some optimism."

Tim didn't respond.

"Go home and get some sleep, McGee. Give it some thought." Gibbs stood up and pushed his chair back to his desk and then left the bullpen.

Tim left a few minutes later, distracted by his conflicted thoughts. When he got back to his apartment, he let himself in and walked into his bedroom. As he got ready he kept running through the conversation he'd just had. Gibbs had inadvertently brought a saying to his mind, a saying by Winston Churchill that Sam had always been fond of. "A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty," he said aloud.

He lay down and let his mind wander. He remembered that quotation so clearly. He rolled over and tried to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The ringing phone at 6:30 the next morning startled Sam out of his rapt contemplation of the sheets on the hotel bed.

"Could you get that, Sam? I'm still getting dressed," Naomi called.

"Well, I would enjoy a little private show, but yes, I'll get it," Sam replied.

"Wow, you're on one today!"

"Every day with you, my dear," Sam joked as he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

_"Dad?"_

Sam was silent for a moment. The voice was hesitant, more hesitant than usual. "Yes, Tim?"

Naomi poked her head out of the bathroom, looking at Sam with a question in her eyes. He responded with a shrug.

_"I...I'm sorry."_

"For what?"

_"For last night. For running. I know exactly what I was doing, and I know you were aware of it as well."_

Sam gave a sad smile which drew Naomi out of the bathroom. Still in her bathrobe, she sat on the bed near Sam and listened to his side of the conversation.

"I was, but I figured you had your reasons."

_"I did. They were terrible reasons, but I did."_

Sam laughed. "Did you want to talk to your mother?"

_"No. I..."_ Tim's voice trailed off. Sam heard him take a deep breath. _"...I wondered if you wanted...to try a real Porsche rather than the stripped-down model."_

Tears pricked Sam's eyes, even as his smile grew wider. Naomi smiled in response.

"I would love that, Tim. I really would."

_"O-Okay. I'll be at your hotel in a few minutes."_

"I guess I'd better make your mother get dressed. She's so slow."

His quip was rewarded with a tentative laugh on the other end of the line. _"Bye, Dad."_

"Bye, Tim."

"He's coming over?" Naomi asked.

"He's going to take me for a ride."

Naomi stood, her eyes wide in amazement. "Really? Now?"

"Yes, now. Go get dressed!"

The towel she'd had turbaned on her head came loose, letting her gray-streaked hair fall to her shoulders. She pushed it out of her face and then whipped the towel around and flicked Sam in the chest.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get for making cracks about my morning ablutions. You were the one taking forever in the shower earlier."

"Tim doesn't know that."

"Yet..." she threatened and hurried into the bathroom.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Mom, why are you filming?" Tim asked, a blush suffusing his face when he pulled up to the hotel.

Naomi looked up briefly from her digital camera. "For posterity, of course. As usual."

Tim rolled his eyes and tried to pretend he was completely unaffected by what he was about to do. He watched as Sam wheeled over to the car and transferred himself into the passenger seat. Then, he took a deep breath and tried keep himself from shaking. He looked over at Naomi and saw that she was focusing on him again.

"Mom..."

She looked him in the eye, still filming. "Big events should be recorded, Tim. Whether you like it or not, this is a big event. Besides, have you ever seen your dad as excited to get in the car with _me_?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Come on, Jeeves!" Sam called.

"Coming Bertie," Tim retorted. He gave a last smile and wave to Naomi and then got in the driver's side. His mother continued to film them as they drove out of the hotel parking lot. She was unsurprised when Sam put his hand out the window in a peace sign.

FINIS!


End file.
